Così Fan Tutti
by tasteofhysteria
Summary: Dark!Gakuen AU- When Lovino's forced to accompany his brother to some boarding school half the world away, he thinks of it as an opportunity to get rid of some of the more unsavory aspects of his life. A clean start, however unwilling. How wrong he was.
1. Genesis de la Rinascita

It was Thursday, it was November, it was New York City, and it was twilight.

The winter chill from the brick could be felt through his thin coat, and he wished he'd had the forethought to put something heavier on before he dashed out the dormitory like a moron with his ass on fire. Though, having a burning ass was probably preferable to the current situation… 

"So, Romano…where have _you_ been, hm?" A once-familiar face grinned at him amiably in the dim half-light of the alleyway, but he couldn't put a name to it anymore. An old partner from when he himself had been a mere grunt, nobody special.

"Why the hell are you bastards here?" Lovino snarled harshly, back against the wall, "I already told you; I don't want anything to do with any of this shit anymore!"

A fist slammed into the wall scant millimetres from his right ear. His eyes slid closed in dread and he exhaled slowly before looking up the barest amount of degrees to stare into his former mentor's wild eyes.

"Shit?" The voice was genial and kind, but the expression was a forbidding and crazed smile, "Did you just call the family _shit_, Romano? I'm sure I heard you wrong. Could you repeat what you said?"

Lovino's throat went dry, recognizing the 'request' for what it was;

'_Tell me what the fuck you just said or I'll carve the tongue right out of your goddamn mouth.'_

"I said," Lovino growled softly, "I don't want to do this anymore. I want out, Arrigo."

His former boss surprised Lovino by throwing his head back and laughing loudly.

"Romano, Romano, Romano! You think we traveled all the way from Rome to New York to hear you say what we already knew? No no no, see…we're here because we want to know why you haven't been paying your bill."

"…b-bill?" Lovino echoed weakly.

"Sì, cretino." Arrigo chuckled and loomed ominously over the shorter Italian boy, "Romanito, you knew the rules when you joined; when you join the family, it's like becoming part of a body. And by wanting to leave, you're cutting off a limb of the body. And when the body gets harmed, everyone wants reparations, no? So it's time you paid your dues."

Lovino's breath drew in with a sharp hiss as he felt a razor-sharp knife press against his inner thigh, just above his knee.

"I-I knew that, dammit!" he retorted, his voice sounding thousands of times braver than he felt, "I sent you all those sculptures and paintings from the academy! What the hell else do you need?! Those came to at least five million euros, you fucking bastard!"

Arrigo gave him an almost-pitying look.

"Romanito, I don't like your tone." The faces he could spy over Arrigo's shoulder twisted into sickly gleeful grins, all of them exchanging glances and nudging each other excitedly.

_It was coming_, Lovino realized blankly. Something horrifying was about to happen to him in this fucking alley in the ghetto of New York City and nobody knew where he was or cared enough to find out, except for Feliciano.

But he'd never call for Feliciano in a situation like this.

"So, Romanito…" Arrigo's voice sounded nearly cheerful as he smoothly drew the blade up Lovino's thigh a bit further, slicing cleaning through a few stitches in the inseam and neatly displaying exactly HOW sharp the edge of the knife was, "You never did tell me why you want to quit being part of the family. When we took you in six years ago, you were so eager to please and to learn the ins-and-outs, green as you were. So what changed? Get a girlfriend? Trying to go the straight and narrow? Grandfather get you a nice job that wouldn't pay to see you with connections to us?"

"N-no," Lovino lied, "Nothing's changed. I just want out of your shitty little mafia. It took me a while, but I realized just how small-time you fuckers are and I'm s-sick of wasting my goddamned time."

"You were always the shittiest liar of the bunch, but you usually knew when to keep your fucking mouth shut." A punishing fist landed against his jaw, snapping Lovino's head to the side and slamming it into the brick wall. Lovino tasted blood in his mouth and knew he had bitten his tongue.

"So that's something that…_changed_." Arrigo smiled sweetly, holding Lovino's chin up with deceptively gentle fingers. "So answer me truthfully, Romanito. What changed?"

Lovino spat the blood in his mouth to the ground, slightly disappointed when it didn't hit the patent leather of Arrigo's shoe. He glared up at the older Mafioso, defiant and wordless. Arrigo sighed again.

"Another thing that's changed! Now you don't know when to OPEN your mouth to save yourself!"

"Go to hell, you son of a bitch!" Lovino snarled venomously, "Your mother's waiting there to suck you off agai—"

Another blow had him seeing stars as his head was again rammed against the brick.

"I'm warning you. Last chance." Arrigo's voice was less friendly now, knife aimed directly over its target. Lovino choked down another mouthful of blood and opened his mouth to spit more verbal barbs—

"Lovino?"

All the blood drained from his face and congealed into a dark ball of dread deep within the pit of his stomach.

Arrigo's head snapped to the side to glare through the weak lighting in the alley at the newcomer before his face smoothed into a deceptively sweet smile.

"Lovino? No son, there's no Lovino here. Just a stupid ungrateful little shit who doesn't know his place. Why don't you run along before some bad men find you?"

'_No no no,'_ Lovino screamed in his head_, 'Stupid bastard! Why the hell would you follow me out here, you fucking know it's dangerous—'_

The new arrival took uncertain step forward, green eyes locked on Lovino's hazy profile in the gloomy light of dusk and smog.

"Lovino? Is that you? It's me; it's Antonio."

Arrigo tutted impatiently and motioned a few men forward as an interception.

"Look, kid." Arrigo's voice had gone harsh and forbidding, "There's no Lovino here. It's just me and you and my boys and stupid little Romano who won't be here much longer. So go the fuck away or you won't be here much longer either."

'_Shut up and go away, you stupid jackass! Do you have some fucking death wish?! I always knew you were a dumb basta—just go AWAY!'_ The voice in Lovino's head shrieked and raged and railed uselessly, silent within the confines of the young Italian's skull.

Antonio ignored (or perhaps didn't understand, he was rather oblivious) Arrigo's words, eyes still locked on Lovino.

"Lovino? Lovino Vargas? It's you, ¿sì?"

"Vargas?" Arrigo looked vaguely confused before darting a glance at Lovino's horrified face. His grip on Lovino's chin tightened painfully, and Lovino winced at the pressure.

"What's this, Romano? Vargas? _Lovino_? You've been lying to us? Do you know this brat? Answer me!"

Lovino pressed his lips into a firm line, eyes rebellious.

"_I said answer me, you little shitstain_!" Arrigo roared, the ropey veins in his neck sticking out in apoplectic rage.

"—I don't fucking know him! He's just some school brat!" Lovino screamed back, nails digging into the brick in fear.

Antonio's face brightened in recognition at the sound of Lovino's voice, his expression slipping into his usual one of blissful glee.

"Lovi! It is you! Oh, Jefe is so glad! I've been looking for you all day!" Antonio sang happily, airily dodging through the wall of men with the skill he was famous for on the futból green.

"Lovi?" Arrigo echoed the word in amusement, contorting it into something more vile than a curse with the way he seemed to caress it with his lips, perverting it and making it filthy.

"_Lovi_?" he said again, lips curving into a sarcastic smirk, "Cute little nickname il tuo ragazzo gave you, sì?

"F-fuck off, you son of a bitch! I already said I didn't know h--"

Arrigo's fist swung out yet again, colliding with Lovino's jaw for the third time, forcing his head to smash into the wall once more.

"I thought we already agreed," Arrigo said dispassionately, "-that you were a shitty liar."

The older Italian sunk his next punch deep into Lovino's gut, purging it of breath and swallowed blood as Lovino collapsed around his hand like a suddenly deflated balloon, vomiting globules of blood and bile over the filthy cement—

"—_Lovi_!"

A tanned hand wrapped around his arm, hauling him upright again as Arrigo's knife-wielding hand fell to his side, hidden in the shadow of his body. Arrigo took a few steps backwards, watching them with a genteel smile.

"—I…h-have it under c-control, y…you b-bastard!" Lovino gasped, trying to suck air back into his lungs and berate the idiot Spaniard simultaneously. He tried to yank his arm out of Antonio's firm grasp, shuddering with the effort and the chill of the air as the sun fell below the city skyline, sapping all light and warmth from the alleyway.

"Por supuesto, Lovi, whatever you say." Antonio soothed him in a soft voice, and it made Lovino feel rather like a child again, just simple static words and appeasement of a soft temper that lit up like sparks from a flint, but with no real heat behind it. The Spanish boy pulled Lovino against him, mindless of the blood and general grime and gore Lovino was covered in, and it was all the Italian could do to keep from either shoving him away or clutching at his shirt until the fabric rotted away beneath his fingers. But he was still lucid enough to remember where he was and—

"Antonio, he has a kni—" he began hoarsely.

"Sweet and touching as this, some of us are busy men with schedules to keep." Arrigo advanced forward in a no-nonsense manner, raising the knife in one hand and checking the watch on his other wrist with a look of complete ennui.

"—mierda." Lovino heard Antonio mutter to himself and felt a seed of guilt lodge in chest as Antonio released him and took a passively guarding stance in front of Lovino.

"…cute, kid. Real cute." Arrigo waved the knife dismissively, "This is your last chance to get the fuck out of here before we deal with little Romanito."

'_Bugiardo,' _Lovino thought venomously, knowing Arrigo had no such intentions.

"Ah, ¿sì? Pero señor, I wanted to take him with me! The academy has a curfew and he's gotten in trouble so many times already--"

"Shut up," Arrigo cut in pleasantly, "It's unfortunate, but it seems we'll have to deal with you both."

This triggered a response up and down the line of men rimming the alleyway in a loose half-circle. From nowhere, guns of different makes and models appeared in their hands, all pointed in the students' direction.

The only coherent thought swimming in Lovino's head was short and succinct.

'_Shit.'_

He felt his eyes widening, pupils dilating in terror, and his breathing becoming fast and labored, chest heaving.

Out. He had to get out. Dying was for someday a long way from now, a concept he'd never allowed himself to ponder deeply because he had never realized until this very moment that one day he'd be just another urn of ash among billions of others, nothing special or memorable _and he had to get out_.

He gazed around wildly, hazel eyes passing over the face of every person. Looking for an opening—

--there.

He tore off, ducking under the arm of the idiot from before whose name he couldn't be bothered to remember. He ran down the alley as fast as he was able, taking advantage of their shock to turn the corner and lengthen his stride into a frantic, panicked sprint towards a populated area; a safe place.

It wasn't until he heard the gunshot that he realized he'd forgotten something.

His feet attempted to turn him around even as inertia carried him forward, sending him crashing to the ground in a painful and awkward sprawl.

Shaky arms and scraped hands pushed him up to a crouch, eyes gazing blankly back towards where he'd fled from.

"—Antoni—" he croaked hoarsely, beginning to push himself back up.

There was faint yelling.

Another gunshot.

Then nothing.

To say there was nothing was inaccurate, because the world kept turning, the confused pedestrians still whispered about him loudly as they passed, the buses still exhaled loud bursts of smoke and gas, the Indian taxi driver railed loudly at being shortchanged, but there was no bright chatter about tomatoes—

Coward. You fucking coward. You goddamned good-for-nothing coward, leaving him behind like fucking garbage when he came after you—

He was back on his feet and running again, from the accusations in his head, ones he could never outrun no matter how fast he was. As if he could make it back to the academy before the gates closed for the night, everything would be fine. He'd find Feliciano and that dumbass lounging in their dorm-room, greeting him with undeservedly warm smiles.

--what was he going to tell Feliciano?

That thought caused his stride to falter for a moment before regaining momentum. He'd deny knowledge of it. He knew nothing of it, never did. Never gave a shit about that bastard.

The part that hurt was knowing how badly he was lying. His footsteps beat a thready tempo like a bird's heartbeat against the pavement and he wondered when everything had gone to complete shit.

Six months ago, his brain supplied helpfully.

Six months ago when you came to this fucking school and ruined Antonio Fernandez Carriedo's life.


	2. Los Lobos En La Ciudad

"_In One Ear"_ – Cage The Elephant

Six months ago, had you asked, Lovino couldn't remember living anywhere but Rome with his idiot brother and even more idiotic and more-often-than-not absent grandfather. He was well-used to being overlooked because of his brother Feliciano's various and sundry "talents, gifts, accomplishments, all that and the fucking kitchen sink". Lovino's own bragging rights consisted of being good with women (Feli was better), running with a crowd that "knew how to get things done" (Feliciano was too good for the mafia), and being able to eat lots of tomatoes without getting heartburn (so what?). Okay, so he was fucking useless. But he was sure he could at least sing better than his brother. And this had half-started the problem.

It was always the same shit; he was a tool to his brother's happiness. Feliciano twirled into their shared bedroom gleefully, all sunshine and rainbows and cheerful bullshit like that.

He was also babbling at seven hundred million words per second.

Lovino groaned and buried his head under his pillow. Feli chattered on at length about some acceptance letter and blah blah blah another_Yes-Feliciano-Is-Indeed-The-Best-Thing-Since-Canned-Pasta_ letter of recognition.  
("But canned pasta is gross!" Feliciano had protested. Lovino smirked inwardly at that.)  
Eventually Feliciano's prattle had grown persistent and annoying enough that Lovino shoved the pillow off his head and against the headboard.

"So you're just here to gloat, is that it?" Lovino dropped his head back into the pillow wearily. If that was all, he was going back to sleep...last night had been busy at "work".

"Eh? No no no, I came to bring fratellone his acceptance letter! I didn't know fratellone could sing, though."

"—what? Singing?" Lovino shifted his head slightly to glare out of one bleary eye at his blindingly happy brother, completely bewildered. Not only was his singing an absolute secret, but to receive recognition for it—

"Sì! Fratellone made it in on a choral scholarship! Nonno signed you up so I wouldn't have to go to...Something-something Academy by myself! Nonno's school! Ve, isn't this exciting?"

"...the geezer signed me up. To keep you company."

No. No no no. _Fuck_ no. This had to be some highly-orchestrated joke at his expense. It wasn't beyond that old bastard to pull shit like this— a boarding school? Their _grandfather's_ fancy-ass boarding school? In _AMERICA?_ Yeah, this had to be some elaborate prank; Lovino had made it perfectly clear that he had nothing other than polite interest (if you could even call it that much) in his grandfather's pride and joy of an academy.

Feliciano smiled brightly at him, not comprehending Lovino's displeasure.

_...always the same shit._

Everything had obviously been coordinated months in advance; the old bastard had planned everything down to ridiculously minute details. Their student visas were secured, paperwork filled out, that mysteriously scheduled (and mysteriously mandatory) doctor's appointment for inoculations the month before now made sense, and now Lovino found himself fretting over his phone in an empty first-class compartment on an international flight to New York as Feliciano cooed out the window at the ocean.

When they found out he was gone—He was fucking dead, the end.

...well, maybe not. He could probably use that geezer's connections to keep himself safe—

He rejected that thought nearly outright, shoving it forcefully to the back of his mind. He'd vowed to never accept help from his grandfather if he could help it.

...that being said, he received a lot of help, but it wasn't like he'd fucking asked for it! Damn!

Anyway, the more troubling problem was figuring out how to disentangle himself from the jumbled mess that leaving Rome was becoming. That fucking asshole of a grandfather never had any consideration! Always thinking that everyone was ready to uproot and resettle at his whim...tch! As though Lovino hadn't been planning for his life in Rome, setting plans and making connections of his own...all gone to shit now for some fucking school in America with a bunch of fucktards he didn't know or care to know!

What was even worse is that it was a boys' school. No girls for miles. That basically boiled down to dealing with a bunch of hormonal teenagers confused about their sexuality and taking it out on each other and—

...it was times like this that made Lovino grateful he was not an entirely lapsed Catholic.

Rome was becoming a tiny speck on the horizon as he finally slammed the window cover shut in a useless fit of rage. What did it fucking matter anyway? His life was over, sans idiotic teenage drama; it was seriously over unless he managed to pull a metaphorical rabbit out of his ass or something. Well, he had ten or eleven hours on this goddamn flight to ponder it undisturbed and undistracted.

—though the flight attendant was _quite _pretty...

Focus, Lovino. Focus. Trying not to die. Undisturbed and undistracted.

"Ve, fratellone! I was looking out the window still!"

And suddenly Distraction was born, and it had the face of his (slightly younger) brother.

"Goddamnit, Feliciano! Just—five fucking minutes! Just shut up for _five fucking minutes!"_

"Ah, fratellone is so mean!"

"Damn you, I said to close your fucking mouth! Che cazzo!"

Needless to say, it was not a productive flight to New York City.

When the two Italian boys disembarked from their flight into the NYC airport, Feliciano was as cheerful and inquisitive as ever; it was Lovino with the homicidal and sour mood; they looked like some brought-to-life version of Comedy and Tragedy masks standing in the middle of a terminal in the heart of New York City.

Lovino hadn't expected their grandfather to actually reveal his most excellent presence at the airport, but he seethed when their black-suited escort stood there with a sign, written only with Feliciano's name but not Lovino's. It was almost enough to make him spin around and march back on the plane and howl until they returned him to Rome.

...but then he remembered why that might be a bad idea and sulkily followed his brother outside to the waiting car, an expensive number done up in glossy black and shining chrome. Lovino ran his eyes over it with an unimpressed expression; he'd seen, stolen, driven, and raced more expensive and faster cars. But he hadn't been expecting a Bugatti or anything half so flashy; just not this stock piece of shit. With an irritable sigh, he shoved Feliciano into the backseat and the driver closed the door behind them.

He pillowed his chin broodingly against his fist and rested it against the door, glaring out the tinted window to stare at the city lights as the sun went down and Feliciano leaned against him, murmuring sleepily in sweet Italian.

He sighed and threw his arm around his twin's shoulders, tugging him slightly closer; just a small comfort in this new foreign world. (Though if you asked, he would insist that _h_e was the one comforting Feliciano.)

It was a long ride to the academy due to the rush-hour traffic and congestion on the motorway, but they did eventually pull up to looming wrought-iron gates in one of the nicest districts of the city.

The school sprawled over several acres; the school building towered overhead, the dorms attached to it were spread out in a wide half circle. Off to the right side were the sports fields; tennis courts and football pitches, courses for the track and cross-country teams, a field for American football, everything and more. Invisible from the front of the school was the large courtyard separating the school from the dormitories. Several paths ambled away from the courtyard, leading to the school garden or the library, or the club building.

All in all, a high-class joint.

And now, it was home.

Or some shit like that, Lovino supposed. He gave Feliciano's errant curl a sharp tug to wake him up.

"VE! F-frate—so mean!" Feliciano complained as he was shoved rudely out of the car.

"Whatever," Lovino grumbled, "Come on, we have to go meet with that bastard."

The reaction was instantaneous; Feliciano brightened immediately with some...pure inner glow and squealed in glee.

"Nonno? It's time to go see Nonno?" The younger Vargas brother cooed happily, shouldering the bag the escort handed to him.

"Isn't that what I just fucking said, idiot?" Lovino snapped, feeling his nerves fraying. It had been a long flight fraught with distractions and now he had to go meet with one of his least favourite people in the world.

His grandfather, headmaster of Hetaliate Academy and their new academic God.

Home sweet fucking home indeed...


End file.
